


Among Butterfly Weeds

by Walor



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Rivals, no capes AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: Hal spends his time chasing a ghost he refuses to let go of.





	Among Butterfly Weeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oliviathecf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviathecf/gifts).



> A birthday gift for Liv! A big thank you to MissNaya for editing because she's the best.

Whiskey hits his tongue first, arcid and strong. Beneath that is a subtler smoother tang of some kind of beer you find on tap at every motorbike bar that sits on the corner right off a highway where the road is half dirt. Warms his throat as good as it would if he took an entire shot, but hasn’t had a drop of anything alcoholic, let alone liquid, since three p.m. This is after.  
  
After he turned the radio on in his fifteen-year-old hand-me-down black and white cruiser with bullet holes stitched up in the headrest. After he switched around channels and got nothing but static, being so deep in the mountains no service can reach him. After the black and green Harley came roaring down Oretga clocking ninety with its souped-up engine at five p.m. After Hal clocked its speed, chased it down the winding turns that bordered sheer cliff faces, only to watch the whipping leather jacket disappear after they made it past the tree line and into the flat farmland beyond the canyon road.  
  
The cyclist comes every Friday of the week, right on the dot, whenever Hal’s positioned off in the bushes. Makes sure the rip of the engine echoes off the rocky canyon hills. Jumps by with a little flickering spark shooting out of the tailpipe whenever he catches sight of Hal.  
  
Knows it’s a he. Studied the strong back of the bike’s rider too many times around the curves of the highway, straining against the pull of the leather. Traced the lines of his thick thighs gripping the sides of the bike and imagined the power that must be rumbling up the man’s spine. Need a lot of power to tame a beast like that.  
  
His cruiser hasn’t got the power to keep up. He hasn’t been in the seat of anything fast enough to need taming since he was discharged from the army. Went straight from chasing the blue curve of the horizon in an A-10 Thunderbolt to skirts in dive bars.  
  
That was until his old drill sergeant found him moping around the Santa Monica pier, sleeping under the stars in the warm sand to ease his lingering hangover. Dragged him out and into basic training for the police academy and said it would help refocus his addiction.  
  
The hell it did, but not the way his old friend thought it would.  
  
Probably wouldn’t have found the biker without it, holed up in a bar on Cook’s Corner, surrounded by two men as big as redwood trees. Probably twice as thick. On a winning streak playing pool with a smile as bright as the red hair on his head. Took one look at Hal when he came in the door and smirked when the entire bar turned their attention to the sole police officer in highway patrol tans, standing with his cuffs in one hand and a badge in the other.  
  
The door quietly clicks shut behind him.  
  
Hal fights hard. They fight harder. He takes down one, then two, and five take their place. The biker watches from across the bar, smiling as he sips down that glass of whiskey while he watches Hal take one, two, three punches right in the nose. By the time the patrons get Hal’s cuffs around his wrists, his shirt is missing three buttons, one eye is nearly swollen shut, and his nose burns like he’s lit a fire in it. Blood drips down underneath and across his lip and chin, staining his rumpled collar.  
  
They toss him onto the pool table in front of his nemesis. Grins down at him and slams back the rest of his whiskey.  
  
“Alright, fun’s over. I’ll take him up.”  
  
Hal finds himself thrown across the muscled back he’s spent weeks, months, a whole year, staring at. It’s just as hard as he imagined. Can feel the muscles shift and stretch with every step and grits his teeth to try and keep his blood from rushing down.  
  
The biker takes him up two floors in the bar to a room. It’s plain. There’s a small box television on top of a little dresser, a nightstand with a lamp and a bible, and a queen-sized bed with a comforter that’s covered in faded bleach stains. That’s not even mentioning the shaggy carpet, worn black with shoe prints and grease stains from the soles.  
  
Hal gets thrown onto the bed and rolls over to find the biker climbing up over him, shucking his jacket to the floor. All he’s got on underneath is a white shirt two sizes too small. Hal can see the dark mark of a tattoo that stretches across his chest. Even with the fabric resting on top, Hal is already mapping out the spread of curling ink around the gothic lettering of the word _Warrior._  
  
“You made quite an entrance.” The biker lets his attention fall to Hal’s half-open shirt. Plucks off the pinned badge and throws it onto the ground. “I like the aviator jacket on ya more.”  
  
Hal snorts. “I’m not the one who decided to hold out in a leather bar.”  
  
That earns him a roll of eyes. “No one said ya had to roll up in your uniform. I think you wanted to get their attention. For a while, I thought the only thing that made you interested in me was my right hook.”  
  
Hal flushes, blood running hot up and down his body before settling low in his stomach. “I’m not that much of a masochist.”  
  
“No,” he shrugs. “But I always knew you were complicated the first time I broke your nose and you came right in your pretty, little air force fatigues.”  
  
“Guy,” Hal growls.  
  
“I’m goin’ I’m goin’,” Guy chuckles as he leans down and presses a hard kiss to his open mouth. Swipes his tongue across Hal’s upper lip before he leans back. “You’re lucky I’m just as interested in watchin’ you get riled up from a few good smacks.”  
  
Hal bites Guy’s lip when he leans down to kiss him again. Copper and whiskey mix together and slide down his throat smoother than any liquor. Grins with bloody teeth when Guy shoots back hissing and spitting curses. “Stop talking.”  
  
Guy does. Stops talking so he can roughly kiss and bite across Hal’s lips and jaw and throat. Leaves purple marks hard and high above the top of his collar that he won’t be able to hide. Rips open his shirt and tears apart the white undershirt beneath it. Slaps Hal when he barks out a protest and flips him over to split apart the seam of his pants to get to his ass faster.  
  
Eats him out without mercy. Until Hal’s wrists bleed and ache from the handcuffs cutting into the skin and he’s crying hot tears into the mattress. Guy makes him come once into his pants, licking and teasing his hole while Hal shivers and pleads for mercy into the stained sheets. Only when Guy pushes him past oversensitivity and Hal is trying to curl into a ball as he shakes and cries does Guy flip him onto his back and toss his leg over his shoulder.  
  
“Please, please,” Hal whines brokenly when Guy goes for the belt on his own pants.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Fucks him like they hate each other. Probably do, probably still does after the both of them got each other dishonorably discharged from the military. Been playing this game for years now, hissing and spitting at each other before falling into bed and fucking the other until sunlight spills into the room and they remember they’re supposed to despise one another again.  
  
Don’t know when they’ll stop it. One day they will, one day they’ll end up finding someone else that makes their blood boil more than the other if they don’t die first. Could be a day or years until that happens.  
  
For now, however, Hal manages to throw his cuffed arms over Guy’s neck to place open mouth kisses against his cheek. Panting pleas and delirious sweet nothings against Guy’s mouth as he fucks Hal into the sweat-stained mattress below them. When they finish, Hal clenches down vice-tight until Guy spills everything he has inside of him. Hal groans and trembles and squirms at the uncomfortable spread of warmth fills him.  
  
“I hate you, I hate you,” Hal chants against his chest. _I love you, I love you._  
  
Guy collapses on top of him, arms enveloping his chest and locking him in until pink dusk colors the window in the early morning hours.  
  
“Me too.”


End file.
